


Forget Me Not

by Arithanas



Category: Little Women (1994)
Genre: Family, Gen, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 11:29:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21207800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: Grief is a burden even to the bravest of hearts.





	Forget Me Not

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Missy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/gifts).

> Many thanks to Ashling who answered the hippo call and made this fic presentable.

Autumn wind rattled against the window. The same wind that made the boughs rap against the glass of Beth’s room that night. Jo March felt another burst of tears from her never-ending supply. Grief had made her ink run dry, tears were making her recollection blurry. She could only see the image of Beth through the muddy crystal of her anger...

Father and Marmee had taken the greatest sorrow with the gravitas it deserved; Jo was a rebel and she fought night and day to keep her tears and rage under wraps. Her tears served no purpose, and her wrath could never be considered righteous by any sound mind: one can’t argue against His divine will.

The attic had become her safe haven. There, surrounded by the memories of their shared youth, she could sit and weep to her heart's content. But the hours were long and the sorrow great and her body slowly crumbled under the weight of her inner turmoil. Beth had flown away to a better place as soon as Jo turned her back. Jo almost felt responsible for letting her go.

Jo sniffed and let her head rest on the solid table. She had cried rivers, but no amount of tears could fill the chasm in her chest, the hole torn by the weight of her guilt.

Did she fall asleep? Jo was not sure, but the vibration of the wood against her cheek was too real to be a dream. Someone was playing the piano. 

Someone was playing Beth’s old piano. The one inside her room.

Jo rose slowly from the rickety chair where she sat, her legs as stiff as wood, as heavy as lead. She opened the door and the old hymn notes poured inside the dusty little attic room. The sound of her steps mixed with those of the sleepy house and the music coming from the room with fresh sheets and decaying petals.

The sound of the notes was much more clear now. Jo pushed the door with a shaking hand…

The room was dark. Only a couple of days had passed, but the place smelled deserted with just the small whiff of rose petals floating in the air.

The neatly made bed reflected the moonlight; Jo could divine the furniture under that faint glow. Beth’s family of dolls, at the foot of her bed, looked at her with her alarmed, fixed eyes. The piano sound was almost deafening…

Jo’s hand flew to her throat in a vain attempt to stop her heart from jumping out of her chest.

The rose petals strewn over the fallboard were bouncing over the polished wood. The candles danced in their holders.

“Forget me not, my dearest Jo…” Beth’s voice came from everywhere, from the walls, from the bed, from inside of Jo’s throbbing chest. “Forget me not…”

Jo tried to reply, to vow she would never forget her dearly departed sister, but the voice didn’t come out. Jo felt her legs giving way under her and she sank down on a sea of crumpling skirts, crying in terror and awe until someone took her in warm, welcoming arms.

“Jo! Oh, Jo,” Marmee was calling, petting her disheveled hair. Behind her, Father lifted a lantern to better look at her. “Have you been sleepwalking again? Oh, my poor Jo…”

Jo shivered on her flimsy nightdress, not because cold surrounded her, but because of the accusation. Her art had a purpose now. She would commend the memory of Beth to paper, as a testament to the love of the March sisters for each other.


End file.
